


Dancing Lights and Singing Shadows (Rewrite)

by LazyWriter1977



Series: Light and Shadow [2]
Category: Arthurian Mythology & Related Fandoms, Merlin (TV)
Genre: Actual talks about magic, BAMF Morgana (Merlin), Blood Magic, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Fuck Canon, Half-Sibling Incest, Medieval war and politics, Multi, Peggy Sue, Redemption, Slow Burn, Smut, The Sarrum is its own warning, Time Travel Fix-It, Trauma, Uther Pendragon's A+ Parenting (Merlin)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-18 13:02:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29609838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LazyWriter1977/pseuds/LazyWriter1977
Summary: (A reworked version of my ArMor epic.)She opened her eyes after death, to gaze upon a distant land. Had she fallen upon a dream or had the dream now ended? Albion will never be the same, neither what it was supposed to be.
Relationships: Gwaine/Merlin (Merlin), Gwen/Lancelot (Merlin), Morgana/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Series: Light and Shadow [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2175432
Comments: 12
Kudos: 21





	1. Prologue

“What a joy it is to see you Arthur.” Emrys’ body was laying still on the ground, defetead and so Morgana walked the few steps towards her goal, watching the feeble struggles of the wounded king with unconcealed eagerness. “Look at you, not so tall and mighty now.”  
  
He said nothing in return, meeting her gaze with blue vacant eyes, growing oh so faint.  
  
“You may have won the battle, but you lost the war. You’re going to die by Mordred’s hand.” It was only fair. He took away another piece of her heart, one more to join the emptiness, but it was still far from enough. “Don’t worry dear brother, I won’t let you die alone. I’ll stay and watch over you, till the wolves gorge in your carcass and bathe in your blood.”  
  
“No, the time for all this bloodshed is over.” Startled, she spun around towards the voice to find Emrys again on his feet. His hands were gripping Arthur’s blade pathetically and she wondered why the almighty sorcerer would go for a sword. He could barely hold it right as he spoke. “I blame myself for what you’ve become...”  
  
“Merlin..."  
  
“...But this has to end.”  
  
_You blame yourself?_ She wanted laugh, she wanted to rage against those words, but instead she hesitated. It didn’t even register to her that her brother had tried to speak. She was warily watching Emrys’ approach, her heart drumming against her rib cage. His eyes, there was something familiar and menacing there, but she wouldn’t allow herself to be afraid. “I’m a high priestess, no mortal blade can kill me.”  
  
_...Here, have some water._  
  
Then the hard steel pierced her skin, and she felt the pain burst through her body, turning her breathing into agony.  
  
_...He will be your destiny and your doom._  
  
“This is no mortal blade. Like yours, it was forged in a dragon’s breath.” Emrys said, his eyes blue, blue like lightning, the blue of an unforgiving ocean. _No! No!_ She wanted to scream, but each gasp for air seemed to bring her closer to the night, her vision growing dark as his voice carried on. “Goodbye Morgana.”  
  
Who did he think he was to say that to her, him the betrayer, the secret keeper, the monster who dared cast blame and take it away?  
  
“You’ve brought peace at last.” Her brother mumbled and after so long the wish to cry hit her with full force.  
  
_Peace?_

She had wanted peace for so long, never been granted even a ounce of it. Peace was for others, not broken, not betrayed and her mind cried out, even as her magic deserted her. _No_ , she sobbed even as her conscience drifted away. _No..._

Barely aware that she was alone, overcome by the darkness at the doors of death, Morgana heard the gentle flap of wings...

... Next she knew, soft, warm sheets greeted her back to the world, gasping for life as she laid there in a shivering sweaty mess. With her heart pounding against her chest, Morgana blinked towards the ceilling and the beams of old wood. She sobbed, a broken desperate sound, taking the furs closer to her body as if they could protect her from the pain of countless wounds, and yet they did nothing against the gash she felt tearing her heart apart in a thousand pieces.  
  
Tasting salt on her lips, she brought a shivering hand up to clear the hair from her eyes, the mundane sensation hitting her with a new realization.  
  
_I’m alive._  
  
The thought was oddly devoid of any comfort. Instinctively she covered her guts, but there was no wound there, no sword of dragon breath stabbing her, nothing… Instead a whole life vanished from her sight to show her what could be a dream and yet she knew to be real. An old room, that belonged to someone else, warmer than anything in her recent memory. Close to the bed, the sight of a sleeping blonde woman invited tears to her eyes.  
  
Shooting away from the furs, Morgana made an effort to leave her bed, her bare feet feeling the assurance from the cold stone.  
  
_I’m alive… Then what..._  
  
The moments before opening her eyes returned ferociously to the front of her mind, burning a desire to scream and trash as the horror met her halfway. Her feet staggered as the first sob racked through her body. _Traitors…_ she thought vengefully, the word as sharp and menacing as Excalibur’s blade… _traitors, traitors, traitors all of them..._  
  
“Morgana?”

The name should mean something to her, but instead it only brought a bitter laugh from the depths of her being, something old and unused in between sobs.  
  
“Morgana, thank the Goddess you’re all right.” Strong arms took hold of her shaking form, and Morgana allowed the embrace to continue. It felt very real. Her sister. Alive. Was it a vision then? She had been close to seeing her visions as a gift once, and her perhaps this was finally her answer. She saw her failure and her end… The end of everything, the deaths of so many and now she was in her room, under the soft glow of moonlight with knowledge beyond her wildest dreams. Yet, she could only feel the pain, crushing, tearing, pulling her down, until she was sitting in the dark by the foot of her bed. Morgause’s voice seeming muffled and distant.  
  
_I should feel triumphant._ She thought. _I should be happy, I can change all that, kill Merlin now, and Arthur, Gwen, and Uther, take the throne and rule Camelot for all eternity. I can do it._ But her mind brought her only Merlin’s tearful eyes and the horror of the poison taking root, her brother’s anguish as she died, Gwen’s noble defiance… The blood, the blood, so much blood… The Dark Tower, looming over dead lands, Morgause’s last words, Aithusa’s screams and the Sarrum’s laughter…  
  
Usually her visions would happen and she would feel the backlash, but still know in her gut that it was a vision. This felt different. The years, the tears, the pains, it was all there, as if she had merely reverted back to a far away past.  
  
_It can’t be a vision then, not exactly._  
  
_And why does it matter?_  
  
Slowly, unflinching before the cold, Morgana rose from her place on the ground, walking towards the window. Her sister was calling her name again, but she dared not disturb this sweet dream. Her shift moved around her body, a body free from the scars she felt in her soul. The Moon was high and the stars were countless, and Camelot unfurled before her like a heartfelt wish.  
  
_Maybe my death was real and this is the dream._


	2. The Ghost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not many changes. I'm adding some hints about Morgause' past sooner. I love working on Morgause, she was such a complex villain before becoming "all evil and only evil and nothing but evil" XD

“Morgana, sister, please talk to me,” Morgause tried once more as the green-eyed woman stood smiling by the window in a ghostly spectacle. She was all pale skin, glowing under a revealing moonlight that broke through the flimsy shift that covered her body. Her hair moved, brushed by cold winds, moving like tendrils of coal waiting for a spark. For a long while she thought she remained unheard, but then the ghost moved at last, a simple tilt of the head.

“Yes?”

“Are you all right?” The question seemed to widen Morgana’s grin, her eyes growing paler and vacant, disconnecting from the tear tracks shimmering down her cheekbones. Immediately Morgause felt her worries worming their way into her heart. She had known her sister might take blows to her mind when she turned away from everything she knew to take down Uther's reign, but she had hoped that the crown and the power could, somehow, soften such blows. “Are you regretting killing the peasants? You know you did the right thing, the knights were refusing to bend the knee and we can’t accept challenges to our rule. You needed to show them the price of their defiance.”

“Peasants?” Morgana whispered, her voice raspy and uncertain.

“The ones you ordered shot, remember?” Her sister’s face remained still, with not a single trace of recognition. “Is this about something else? The serving girl’s betrayal? I know you considered her a friend once, or is it something about your brother? I assure you he won’t evade us for much longer.”

Her assurance again seemed to have fallen on deaf ears. Morgana barely looked at her face, instead surveying the room around with a haunted gaze that locked into something. When her sister moved, it was towards her vanity where she laid her hands atop the jeweled crown of Camelot. Her fingers brushed the gold cycle softly, tracing old markings that blushed under the fire. “Is this some sort of torment?”

“What?” Morgana didn’t answer, but her hand moved as if to protect her belly. The shiver that run through her body didn’t seem to be from the cold.

“This, right here, you, Camelot, it must be some sort of torment, a trap from Emrys meant to drive me mad,” her sister said in a voice that was close to a whimper. Approaching her slowly, Morgause dared to touch her shoulder, feeling her sister tensing under her hand.

“Morgana, what are you talking about?” Morgana seemed disoriented and at loss, and so Morgause sought to remedy that. “Do you remember what happened? We were both speaking earlier about how we would go on executing the knights, we would use the gallows for that, and then you suddenly fainted.” Watching her sister nodding her head and sensing that she was actually getting through to her, Morgause searched her mind for the right words. “You were burning up in fever and I was deeply worried, yet now you feel so cold to the touch.”

Morgana’s eyes suddenly snapped shut, and Morgause saw a couple of fresh tears escaping her eyes as she shook her head, that smile was still there, but now it was mocking, even angry. “This… No… This is...”

“Did you have a vision?” It was always a possibility; strong visions could leave the Seer disoriented until reality settled. Running her hands through her sister’s hair, Morgause carefully checked her wrist for the bracelet and she could feel its healing magic as strong as ever, as strong and soothing as it had been when she herself first received it, as strong as when she branded her own love on it and passed on to her sister. Any vision breaking through must have been a powerful.

Morgana opened her mouth and closed it again, her chest heaving with suffering breaths. Holding her against her chest, Morgause started to whisper soothing words; words she knew were meant to be comforting, even if she lost faith in them long ago as the people who whispered to her became ghost and she went on living.

She whispered and Morgana cried.

She was still crying when the bells suddenly began to sing all over Camelot. Tensing, she let go of her sister right away, looking out of the window as if she could find her enemies' shadows climbing the ramparts. “It must be Arthur.” She turned to Morgana who still seemed out of herself. She would be of no help in that state. “Sister, please stay here and be safe, I’ll take care of this.”

And without a second thought Morgause marched out of the door, satisfied to see that her men were already moving, the black snake of Essetir blazing on their doublets. She gave her orders quickly; to bar the gates, to look out for intruders, to guard the Cup. At her last order, she made her way there herself, strutting through the long hallways while feeling for her magic, gripping the tendrils of power from the world around her until they were pulsing and bristling, waiting for a spell to set it free.

Soon enough Arthur Pendragon would be dead and the last threat to her sister’s rule would die with him. His end will forever mark this night as a signal of their triumph and the return of the Old Religion. No more would her people live in fear under a foolish king’s boot. Morgana would show all of them. Even if rebellion sprung there would be no questioning the legitimacy of Morgana Pendragon and with magic on her side her sister would subdue and conquer any challenge. She could see it now, her sister on the throne, ruling wisely, offering love to those who were loyal and enacting rightful punishment against those who would have them dead. That she seemed odd now didn't matter, her sister would surely feel better once her reign was secured. She, like Morgause, would move on from feeling sorry about her choices, for change never came without blood.

She was so distracted by her thoughts that when she finally came to the doors she was startled to find them wide open. Pulling at those troublesome skirts, the high priestess raced inside, coming in just in time to meet a surprising sight. There was no mistaking the garb of a knight, and sure enough there was one fighting inside the chambers, his mail gleaming under the light of torches as he swung his blade uselessly against her immortal warriors, but while he couldn’t hurt them, the other one did. It was him of course, that troublesome creature in his obnoxious scarf. While the knight could do no harm, the serving boy’s sword hit the soldiers and they collapsed under the blade’s touch, something that should be impossible. There was no time to think about it though, because the servant was running towards the Cup, his intent clear and Morgause couldn't let that happen. Pulling at her power, she threw her hand forward flinging the boy away like a rag doll.

He fell, squirming in pain and victory felt sweet on her tongue. She gazed upon the Cup, making sure it was indeed still there before smiling her way over the would be heroes. It was a sight to be enjoyed. The armored man was clearly injured and wouldn’t be much of a threat; meanwhile the treacherous little snake who tried to kill her sister was now under her mercy. She would have fun ending him. “I have a feeling I won’t be seeing you again.”

“No, you won’t.”

She felt the force of a spell before she could react, throwing her away from the lad. She hit the floor hard, pain flaring from her side and elbow, but just as she fell every part of her body reacted, struggling desperately to her feet at the sight of the Physician. Morgause gathered her power. She was a High Priestess of the Old Religion, and she wouldn’t allow an old man to best her, not the snake that lied to Morgana all those years, who kept his position while so many others burned, but just as she was about to summon fire and wind to destroy him for good, she felt her body being lifted once more.

All at once it was like receiving a punch from a gigantic fist, such a tremendous power there was no chance of defense. She felt the wards around her body shattering like glass, her bones creaking in pain, muscles flinching with agonizing despair. For a High Priestess, being hurt was almost impossible, and yet Morgause felt a sudden fear of death that hadn't reached her since she was a child, feverish in a damp cave. When the ground vanished from under her feet she was already losing conscience, until golden light screamed against her senses.

Her body floated as if caught by a warm soft sheet. Thunder echoed in her ears as she blinked, the chamber tremblng around her, stealing her breath. She saw the servant backing away, he and the physician side by side while the ghost laughed in their faces, a hand lifted, eyes golden with so much power that her hair floated around her frame and for an instant Morgause thought it was the Goddess herself that stood before her, but the madness passed and she saw the truth.

“Sister…” Morgause choked out the word, feeling the pain overcoming her senses and drowning her in darkness.

_She was stuck in an old dream._

_A sad lullaby of that told of strangers meeting and saying goodbye before something precious could begin. The ground was hard where she was lying, despite her master’s best efforts, and the bundled cloak made for a poor pillow, but in the dream she was barely annoyed by any of it, neither could she feel the fever that had burned through her in those fogged._

_In the dream she struggled to move but her body refused to obey. Her eyes were filled with her visage, all dark hair and dark eyes and a smile soft and caring as love should be, before it disappeared and in its place was a cup all smooth gold and magic, imbued into the metal by generations of caring and dutiful work._

_“No….”_ _She cried out, but no sound left her lips. “Don’t… Please don’t do this…”_

_Morgause felt the cup touching her lips and although she wanted to fight it, her body wasn’t her own any more, and she drank everything, both the water and her tears._

_“Mama…”_ _She pleaded, but the form was already falling. “Mama!”_

Morgause groaned, feeling pain pulsing from every part of her. Her muscles ached, high and low and slowly she dared to open her eyes to find a blue sky and tree branches moving past her sight. The dream had vanished, leaving only the usual bitterness in its wake and a world that smelled oddly like cabbages. She felt movement, heard the thumping of hooves and was almost lulled back to sleep before she found the hunched form that was driving the cart. When pale green eyes met her over the cloaked shoulders, she felt a sigh of relief leaving her lips, her voice hoarse and dry when she used it.

“Sister...”

“Are you all right?” There was something broken about Morgana’s voice, something horrible that evoked the memory of her dream all the more. “There is water by your side.”

Glancing down, she found that indeed there was a skin there. She drank the water greedily, her thirsty barely registering as she studied the hidden faces of the Blood Guard flanking them. “What happened?”

“We lost,” Morgana answered. “I’m sorry.”

“There is nothing to be sorry for, sister, who could’ve known that the old man would actually have any power in those rusted bones.” Morgause took another sip of water and spat over the cart’s side, feeling her joints aching everywhere. “There will be a next time.”

Her sister simply lowered her head down and Morgause chose to finally take a better look at her surroundings. Morgana was driving the cart on a road of dirty, surrounded by thick woods where the leaves begun to rot on the branches. The warrior priests were swaying, almost dead atop their horses and there were only ten of them, barely half of their original number.

“What is our situation?”

“The Knights are pursuing us even now. They are thirsty for vengeance it seems, for not even death can sway them from the chase. The Blood Guard is keeping them away as best as they can, but sleep is a luxury until we reach safety.”

“You’re tired.” Morgause pointed out watching the way her sister blinked, her shoulders shaking a little. “How long?”

“Sister...”

“How long?”

“Three days”

“You’ve been three days without sleep?” Morgause asked furiously. She sat up and slowly moved to her knees, groaning at the snap of her joints. “Are you mad?”

“The Guard has been moving as long as I am, besides, this isn’t my first time.”

Morgause frowned in confusion, wondering what her sister meant by that. “The Guard was trained for that sort of thing.”

“I have my magic.”

“Which has its limits, now give me the reins and go rest,” Morgause said, groggily jumping to the seat and having to snatch the leather from her sister’s stiff hands. Morgana seemed about to protest, but she lifted a finger. “Don’t argue, I feel fine, now just tell me where we’re going.” 

She didn’t really expect an answer as her sister nodded, slowly limping to the back of the cart.“To the north and east, to castle De Bois”

“De Bois? Isn’t that...”

“Yes, just wake me up when we get there.”

Morgana silenced as she laid down, throwing a lonely cabbage head away to open space on the wooden surface. In the time of a few heartbeats she was asleep and Morgause moved on. _Mama_ , she heard herself saying and shivered. She would need more answers soon, but for now, Morgana’s safety was the only thing that mattered.


	3. Blunted Blade

Breakfast was already atop of her table when she woke up, morning light and cold winds greeting her movements as she dressed for the day; the clothes were hers, but they might as well be from a stranger as her fingers pulled and tied unfamiliar laces. There was a brief hesitation from her part when it came to the food, old habits pushing her to cast spells against poison and even then her first bite was small and fearful as if the taste and sustenance might prove the incorporeal dreams of a dammed soul. Hunger quickly broke her from those musings, driving her to end the bacon in instants, the grease running down her chin as she savored the strong flavor. The tankard had lemon water and she drank a pinch before going for the eggs, biting the boiled white to get to the still soft yolk.

It might have been the fact she rode for three days straight with barely any sleep or food, or maybe it was the fact she could feel every hurt from the next years flaring under her skin, but Morgana couldn’t remember the last time she had appreciated a meal.

After swallowing everything with her fresh water, she allowed herself to think. She thought about this day, that day and all the days that were now out of order. Emrys’ poisoning felt so distant from her, it was truly strange to think it happened only a year ago even if the marks of the attempt lingered. Vaguely she had to wonder what her old friends were up to now; Arthur would surely be trying to heal the scars of his rotten kingdom while looking after his broken father, Gwen, sweet Gwen, would be hovering over his shoulder and making sure he ate his dinner.

_Queen Guinevere._

The thought made her want to laugh and then her laughter died away, her hand hovering over her belly yet again. She was still uncertain about what she had lived through, but one thing was real: whatever had happened, she was back, years back, with so much knowledge she could crush Camelot at a moment’s notice, and wasn’t that a sweet thought? It was, but inside she felt a sudden stab of fear as well, and she wasn’t sure where it came from.

“Morgana?” The knock had her heart jumping until she recognized her sister’s voice, her living, breathing sister. Strangely, trying to summon a memory of loving said sister felt as futile as anything she might try to see through the fog of her mind. She remembered the pain of that day where she was finally alone for good, but that was drowned by so much else, it was hard to keep track. Still, the feeling was real, a sense of relief and incredulity that dozed her inner fire until she was struggling to school her desperation. Quickly, she cleaned up her chin.

“Come in.”

Morgause strode inside the room almost regally, her eyes roaming the land outside the window before zeroing on her. “How are you?”

“I’m well” Morgana replied, frowning. “Hungry, but well.”

Morgause nodded while the shadow behind her followed suit with his own declaration. “That is excellent news, my lady.”

“Thank you, my lord” She answered stoically, watching Agravaine’s calculating gaze as he entered the chambers, still unsure, still measuring them up, and yet so eager to get blood on his hands. It was a familiar situation, but when she sought some clarity from her memories her mind offered only fog, but as disturbing as that was she let none of it show in her face. “I am grateful for your hospitality.”

“That is absolutely unnecessary, considering the circumstances.”

“It is only natural that enemies of Uther should stand together.” She declared, scratching her nail over the table, her eyes flickering to Aggravaine’s hesitation, almost as if she could see the pieces coming together behind that gaze. “Have you gotten news from Camelot, my lord?”

“Indeed I do.” Agravaine spared a wary look towards Morgause before squaring his shoulders. “Arthur has taken regency of the kingdom until his father is once again fit to rule. Nobles are required to write back or present themselves to court to acknowledge his position.”

“That is expected.” Had Arthur done such thing before?

“Even if the nobles recognize him, he will be in a precarious position.” Morgause pointed out, but Morgana wasn’t listening, her gaze lingered on the pastures beyond, the wide valley spreading to the foot of a mountain to the east and she was startled by how new it all was.

“Are you sure we’re safe here, my lord?”

Agravaine followed her stare to the planes outside, nodding confidently. “This old keep was given to me when I became of age; it was always the plan that I held it while my brother ruled over Castle De Bois. These days it is without a ruler, as I keep it under my personal administration, out of sentimentality I suppose.”

_You also must enjoy the extra income,_ Morgana thought and once again she had no idea if that was true or not. “I thank you for your service and please, know that you shall be rewarded well for it.”

“Yes, indeed, my lady.” She saw him worrying his lips, while casting a look at her sister. “If there is anything else I can do for the both you, please let me know.”

She nodded courteously, watching the man take his leave. As soon as they were alone her sister begun to mutter a spell under her breath, making the magic encase both of them in a shield for their privacy.

“I don’t like that man,” she said as soon as she was done. “Are you sure he is trustworthy?”

_No one is worthy of trust._ She thought, remembering that even allies with promises would die and leave forever. She felt a stab of pain all of the sudden and found that her nail was now broken; it was nothing that could bother her, even as she watched the blood dripping over the wood.

“Agravaine was Arthur’s age when he watch Uther’s hand getting drenched in his family’s blood; his sister’s and his brother’s. He is as haunted by the past as any of us.”

Morgause was not appeased as she came forward, taking her hand and giving her a strange look as she whispered a healing spell. “By the way he looks at you; I would say he is moved by more than that.”

That was an understatement if anything. Agravaine’s loyalty had as many layers as an onion. He wanted vengeance, he wanted a body to share his bed, he wanted to feel vindicate and also feel like he had taken from Uther his beloved daughter.

“He lost two wives to fever and childbirth; I don’t begrudge him a look. If he goes too far I’ll let you know” _After I’ve gelded him myself_ , she thought, looking blankly down at the knife sitting on her table. “We should talk about other things.”

“Yes, let’s do it, starting by how you were so certain that this man would help us.”

“Because he was useful to me once before, until his death.” She saw Morgause’s eyes widening and fought the urge to laugh again, it was also madness, and maybe she was mad to be living through this but when she saw Emrys, imaginary or not, her rage terrible. She had been ready to face him if it wasn't for her sister llying on the ground calling for her. Destroying Emrys would never matter as much as recovering something she lost. “I was older than you when I died.”

She saw her sister slowly taking in what she said, until something seemed to finally piece together in her mind. “You had a vision then, just as I thought.” Morgause looked her over, her eyes twinkling. “If that is true, then it’s wonderful news. We have no need to wait if the key to Camelot’s destruction was revealed before your eyes. You must know a way to do it.”

“You died...” Morgana said suddenly, but Morgause didn’t even pause.

“Is that what you saw? Will my death bring the end of Camelot?”

“No, I...”

“If that is case so be it” Morgana’s eyes widened, her hands shaking as she remembered the clear feel of a dagger in her hands and then nothing. “Uther must die, and my life would be a small price to pay. If that is what it takes to free those with magic from his tyranny, to make him pay for all his crimes, then I would die happily.”

“You don’t need to die!” Morgana bellowed. “And it wasn’t that sort of vision! I didn’t see anything! I lived it!”

Her temper had clearly frightened her sister. Around her, the furniture trembled under waves of unhinged power, but Morgana couldn’t stop it, she couldn’t, not now that she was talking. “I lived! I lived until I was thirty and two, I lived to be betrayed and hurt and abandoned until I was stabbed in the guts by a sword forged in dragon’s breath! I died and woke up Queen of Camelot, like destiny was playing a cruel joke on my life, as it has done for many years now!!”

Morgana tried to breathe as her words died away, but suddenly the air around her felt more like lead, her lungs were weak, and her knees buckled. The ground seemed to suddenly disappear as her vision darkened. It was a grave, her world was a grave and the wails of a white dragon, and the sun was gone, always gone. Hands reached for her, but her drumming heart refused to let her go. 

When she woke up again, night had fallen outside and the fire was alive, keeping the cold at bay. Morgause was sitting by her bed and her hands were running through her hair, unnecessarily combing the tangled mess. It was a soothing gesture, and Morgana felt a stab of something old reawakening her, a whisper of the last time someone held her like this, but as soon as she seemed to grasp it, it vanished. In the present they locked eyes, and Morgana waited, watching her sister above her, her face without the scars that had been there in her last days. Her memories of so long ago were fogged and uncertain, but the sight of that scar seemed far more resilient.

“You realize that what you speak of should be impossible.” Morgause spoke softly, as if worried by her reaction and Morgana nodded as if moving underwater. “With everything that was taught to me about magic and the Old Religion, I never heard of anything like this. Even the most powerful seers could only have glimpses of the future.”

“I’m aware.”

“But magic is still magic.” Morgause whispered, and she was suddenly the High Priestess again, not really a worried sister. “There are still many mysteries out in the world and it would be irresponsible of my part to ignore such fact, which means you might be right and you have already lived through your life and death. In that case, how much do you remember?”

“Some of it” She closed her eyes, but grasping at specific events was like trying to catch the ocean with her hands. The water would drop through her fingers she would be left with droplets of nothing. “I need help.”

Her was still running her fingers through her hair, but now stopped, looking thoughtful. “I might know a way, but you must be certain,” Morgause said again and her tone had Morgana frowning. “It is an old potion to bring back what was forgotten, but you’re asking me for a life of memories and that might be dangerous and painful. There is no way to purge bad memories from the good ones, or even to seek only that which you wish for.”

Morgana thought about it only for an instant. She was no stranger to suffering, and she would do whatever it took if it meant reaching her goals of destroying her enemies and donning her rightful crown.

_I’ll see Camelot on its knees even if I have to look through the veil of my pain._

In the end it would take a full day for the potion to be ready, and so it was that at Morgause’s insistence Morgana found herself outside that afternoon, allowing her feet to walk Agravaine’s property with slow deliberate steps.

The keep around her was old, with long clean walls and ceilings supported by decadent columns of marble now covered in vines and moss. Pictures of men and women built with thousands of tiny colorful stones could be seen in the main courtyard, cracked and destroyed by the vegetation bellow. The ruins of a people long dead. Around it though, the lands were filled with dense woods and wide fields colored by autumn's arrival, a place where horses could be bred, raised and then sold all over the kingdom. It was a good place for the youngest child of a noble family, a good place for an insignificant life amounting to nothing.

Looking over her shoulder, Morgana spied the Blood Guard walking five steps behind, his hood keeping his face hidden, even during the day. They never talked, never balked when ordered and never surrendered. She had a vague remembrance in the back of her mind that she might’ve been intimidated by them once. The thought made her angry, because looking at them now was like staring down at bugs she could crush under her boot. They weren’t something worthy of knowing. Not that she knew anyone worth of it. Betrayal and disappointment were the only constants in her life, whether it came from a stranger or a sister eager to die. Even now Morgause was eager to die.

Her last defeat might be the greatest proof of that. She had it all then, the loyalty of the Saxons to build her army, a trap cleverly made, and her greatest enemy powerless and yet, the end of the day brought her only more pain. She began the day dreaming of Camelot’s throne and Mordred at her side, and in the end she was shattered before the sight of his grave, and cold when her screams for Aithusa fell on deaf years. She couldn’t understand why her dear dragon didn’t come back after the battle, and only her drive to see Arthur dead once and for all made reality somewhat bearable.

_It might be my destiny. To be loved and then betrayed._

Now, with so much to dread about the next hours, she couldn’t help but wonder if it would be better if she had been alone all her life. Maybe this ache in her heart might have never existed. Had Aithusa and Mordred never come before her eyes, she would never have grieved.

_I blame myself for what you've become._ Emrys had barked in her final moments, where even in the end his arrogance shined through.

_And what have I become?_

_Alone._ The answer was so simple she felt like laughing. _Did I kill Arthur at least?_ She tried to remember, but the last thing she had seen had been her brother’s still living eyes, eyes filled with pain. _Alone and broken._

Her gaze suddenly rested upon the bracelet around her trembling wrist, the crest of Gorlois glittering, seeming mocking her state of mind. _You were the first to leave me, weren’t you? Everyone leaves eventually whether they wished it or not._ Disgusted by her weakness, she closed her hand into a fist, her muscles strung and eager for release. When she screamed, her power burst with a spell, and the wall to her left crumbled and burst into a cloud of dust, raining debris and stone towards the fields beyond. Breathing hard, Morgana glanced at what her hands were capable of and made a silent promise that Camelot would be on the receiving end of it soon.

“You there!” The guard watching her squared his shoulders like a scared puppy, g _ood_. “Give me your blade!”

Wordlessly, the guard approached her, his height was close to her own but even so she caught a glimpse of bright brown eyes under the hood. Quickly, he unsheathed one of the two swords he had strapped to his belt offering it to her, hilt first. Morgana never understood those who used two weapons, the training necessary to wield both would make it almost impossible to win a fight against an experienced swordsman, but the weapon was a fine one at least, well forged and well balanced, with a simple bare wooden hilt.

“Why is there blood on your sword?” She asked, and he hesitated. “Speak.”

“While you were unconscious, the knights of Camelot closed in on us, my lady. Your sister sent us to deal with them.” His voice cracked a little and yet his words were clear. “It was a fierce battle, but me and my siblings won and not one of them was left alive.”

She cocked her head to the side, amused. “How many did you kill?”

“Two my lady, one in single combat when he slipped on the mud, the other stabbed in the neck when he almost killed one of my brothers.”

In silence, she nodded, lifting the weapon to tap at his beardless chin. “Fight me.”

The shadowy face couldn’t be seen, but whatever he was feeling he nonetheless unsheathed his second sword. Happy to be obeyed, Morgana tested the blade in her hands, twirling the sword in a slow swing, while her muscles complained at the sudden strain.

_Weak, but it will do._

She attacked first, her blade meeting the guard’s defense without real strength and each time the steel met steel, she felt the blood pumping through her veins as the Battle of Camlann hummed in her mind like a long lost song.

She struck high, with force and the guard staggered back in surprise. Her heart was beating faster now, and she let each strike be a vengeful blow against her pain. She let her mind wonder to her enemies, to fantasies she would often use to fuel her inner fire. She imagined Gwen sitting on her throne, wearing her crown and her hand moved forward to punch her enemy’s face. His hood fell back, revealing a surprised young face that swan in her vision under Mordred’s peaceful slumber. She imagined Emry’s standing triumphant over her corpse and pressed forward. The guard was retreating now, and the beast coiled around her soul stirred awake, each shock of steel flaring its thirsty for blood with shards of pain. Morgause’s death, Aithusa’s anguish, the Sarrum’s torture and Uther’s rage. Morgana bellowed and brought her sword down, driving the young guard to his knees and then to the ground. She struck his blade blindly and suddenly a surge of power coursed through her and towards the sword, and the lad’s blade burst into pieces of shining blue steel.

Arthur’s eyes, her brother’s eyes, dead eyes. _Dead, dead, dead, dead…_ Brown eyes, filled with fear as the young guard trembled under her.

Morgana’s face broke into grinned. The fear was sweet, if felt well that she could inspire so much of it. She cocked her arm back, eager for the sight of red drenching the grass when a loud call broke through her murderous haze.

“Sister!”

Her arm stopped inches away from the guard’s throat as it bobbed in fear. Looking up, she found Morgause standing a few feet away, looking like an impatient parent.

“The potion is ready, come along now.” Morgana nodded, dropped the sword and, without looking back, left the guard alone to wallow on his misery. “You should not play with the guard like that, they’re a valuable resource.”

“There are always men with swords to be found somewhere, dear sister; I’ve found plenty in my time.” Morgause ignored her.

Once inside their quarters, her sister walked towards a cauldron over the hearth, took a ladle and poured a small amount of a golden liquid into a bottle.

“Spells that deal with the mind are dangerous, there is a delicate balance between the desired effects and one’s own sanity that can be unpredictable.”

“I’m a High Priestess of the Old Religion.” Morgana declared, watching a mild touch of surprise on her sister’s face. “I can handle it.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yes...” Morgana said, as her sister enchanted the flask and the liquid shone like a river of stars. With the flow of the sword practice still pumping through her veins, she watched eagerly as the bane of her sorrow was placed in the palm of her hand.

“Your mind will work tirelessly once you drink the potion, in a matter of days everything you forgotten will be returned. You shall remember everything, down to the first word to ever leave your lips.”

“Yes...”

Once this was over, she would find Mordred and Aithusa, she would find out where the dragon came from and bring her back, she would make sure the world was safe for both of them, and the she would go to Camelot and tear it down stone by stone, until there was nothing left but ashes and the bones of her enemies. It was a promise.

Morgause kept her eyes upon her for a long baited breath. “I’ll watch over you.”

Morgana took the potion in one single gulp.


End file.
